Nightmares
by cheesycheese
Summary: There's that one dream that Paul's had since the night his mother died. Today, he reaches his limit. Beatles fic.


**ksadbaieudhiawuednkwe hey look guys another one. This one took a while, and it might be a bit disturbing for some people, so I'm sorry for that, but it;s supposed to be powerful, y'know? **

**Hope you like it. And remember to review :)**

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><p>It was noon, and one of the very few free days The Beatles had gotten in the last few weeks. It wasn't even a whole free day, they still had a concert at night, but until then they had no commitments and they planned to make the most of it. They'd decided to just do <em>nothing<em>.

Good plan, in Johns opinion. They'd just lazed around all day, finally settling down around the coffee table, playing cards while sitting on the floor. Paul hadn't wanted to play and had been fiddling around with George's acoustic until he'd fallen asleep on the sofa a few minutes ago.

John crawled over and gently picked the guitar off of him and put it off to the side. Paul shifted a little, but then settled down with a soft sigh. Johns mouth quirked a little.

"Thanks." George said absently, concentrating on his cards.

"Don't mention it. Just get me my pudding."

They played a few rounds of poker, betting everything from their shoes to their favourite snacks. George won Johns supply of chocolate pudding but said he would share.

"Mighty kind of ya." John drawled, and George grinned cheekily.

"Sharing is caring, innit?"

"Hey George can I have one?" Ringo piped up.

"No."

A few minutes later, Paul whimpered and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Everybody turned to look at him.

"Whats up with him?" George wondered aloud, trying to get a look at his face but it was turned off to the side.

"Probably a wet dream or summat." John cracked, and Ringo stifled a laugh. George shrugged and went back to his cards, taking a swig of his beer. Paul started whimpering again, but this time mumbled something they couldn't make out.

"What'd he say?" John asked with a confused frown. George shrugged again.

"Dunno. I think he's just tired, I heard him shifting around a lot last night."

"No..not again." He moaned, and this time it was clear. He turned and they saw the frown on his face, and John felt a stab of panic when he heard the words. He had a feeling he knew what this was. He'd never actually seen him have that dream, but somehow he just knew this was that dream that'd occasionally haunted Paul for years.

"I think he's havin a bad dream." Ringo said rather unnecessarily, and John promptly tossed his cards down and crawled over to Paul

"Hey Paul! Paul wake up." He said, shaking his arm. Paul just squirmed away, his face contorting in panic.

"No, no, no, no, no, no!" He groaned, shaking his head feverishly, his hair flopping around. John slapped him lightly on the face.

"Paul you're dreaming, it's just a bad dream!" Paul whimpered again, and John spoke louder. "Wake up!"

"NO, GOD NO!" He yelled suddenly, and everybody jumped. Ringo and George immediately crawled over to the sofa, close to his head. George tried shaking his shoulders.

"PAUL!" He said a little too loudly, and John hissed at him.

"Stop it, yer gonna scare him!" John was aware this probably sounded strange, but he didn't care at the moment. Paul was flailing his arms now, struggling madly against George's grip, who immediately let go.

"NOT AGAIN PLEASE NOT AGAIN!" He cried out, trying his hardest to get away from some unknown threat, slapping Ringo hard in the face in the process.

"Ow!" He cried out in shock and surprise. Paul was screaming incoherently now, tears streaming down his face, thrashing so voilently John was afraid he would hurt himself.

"Hold his arms down!" He ordered, and George and Ringo immediately grabbed an arm each, trying to hold him down as best as he could. John grabbed his glass of water. "Paul, dammit, wake up! WAKE UP!"

When Paul continued to cry and and try to break free of their grips, John threw the water straight onto his face. Paul gasped in surprise and his eyes whipped open, bugging out in fear.

"It was just a dream, Paul. Yer okay, you were just dreaming." Ringo reassured him quickly, letting go of his arm. George followed, looking slightly frightened. Paul looked around wordlessly, his chest heaving, still looking panicked.

"Ye alright, Paul?" John asked, patting him on the arm. Paul jumped and John jerked his arm back. He quickly sat up, nodding his head feverishly. He wouldn't look at any of them. He suddenly felt at his cheeks and feeling the wetness there, angrily wiped them away, looking ashamed.

"It's okay Paul." Ringo said uncertainly, not wanting to upset him. Paul looked up at him, trying to give a casual smile, but the haunted look in his eyes gave him away. John gulped.

"Oh, yeah. Just a stupid, fucked up dream." He said, trying to laugh it off, but it only came out forced. He cleared his throat, suddenly scrunching his eyes shut. Before anyone could utter a single word, he'd muttered simething about the bathrooa and left, leaving three stunned beatles behind. John promptly suggested they go get everyone some lunch and went after Paul.

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><p>When John tentatively went into the room Paul and George were sharing, Paul was pacing. Angry, forceful footsteps, rubbing at his eyes as if trying to physically erase something from his memory.<p>

He looked up when John came in, dropping his hands helplessly to his sides and looking him straight in the eyes, swallowing roughly. And the pain in those doe eyes, that haunted look made John feel like somebody had punched him in the gut. It looked unnatural to him, because he had never seen that look in those usually happy brown eyes.

"I can't stop seeing it." Paul said quietly, his voice shaking with supressed tears.

"Seeing what?" John asked once he'd regained his ability to speak, his voice hollow. He couldn't look away from his eyes. Paul just squeezed his eyes shut again, swallowing again, and John blinked, feeling as he'd just been released from some sort of trance.

"It was the same one, wasn't it?" John asked, blinking rapidly. It was stupid, unneccessary really. John knew the answer, he'd known since Paul had started screaming. And Paul nodded, rubbing at his eyes again.

"I can't..I want to stop seeing it John. Make it stop." He commanded, his lower lip trembling. John could see the tears swimming in his eyes, but for once , John was speechless. He just simply didn't know what to say, or what it was that Paul wanted him to do. What was he supposed to do?

"Please make it stop." Paul repeated, except a million times lower and choking off at the end. It was a plea more than anything, Paul was _begging_ here. And still, John said nothing, because he couldn't fucking do or say _anything _to make Paul stop dreaming that dream. And it tore at him, made him feel like a failure of a friend, to just stand here uselessly with his mouth open while his friend drowned in his misery.

"Oh god, no, no, no.." Paul looked away and groaned, burying his face into his hands, and John just _knew_ he was seeing it again, and he desperately racked his brain for something to say or do, to make it all go away. It felt like it was happening to him, because it _had_ happened to him. _So _ many times, and Paul would always be there. But here was Paul, not pushing him away like he always did when he had that dream, but crying and pleading, and John couldn't do _anything_. When John actually had the chance to return the favour, he couldn't do a single fucking thing.

"Paul it's okay.." He found himself saying, moving forward in a rush of motivation to do something he hadn't figured out yet, and Paul dropped his hands and looked almost angry for a second.

"No it's not fucking okay! It's not fucking.."

And Paul had choked his words down and a second later, he'd launched himself at John and thrown his arms around him. His head buried in the crook of John's neck, Paul broke down in a moment of pure weakness. There were no pretenses, no unconvincing 'I'm okays', no pushing John away whenever he had that same nightmare. This was Paul, clutching at John's shirt like his life depended on it, sobbing without any hesitation or control. And Johns arms were around him in a milisecond, stroking his back and the back of his head and neck, just wordlessly being there. THIS is what he was supposed to do, he'd gotten it now. He needed to just _hold_ Paul like he'd done for _him_ so many times.

Pauls legs gave out after a minute of uncontrollable, heaving sobs and John tried to hold him up, but ended up on the floor with him anyways. And Paul was clutching at the front of his shirt now, and John could feel him shaking in his arms and tears soaking through his shirt and he instinctively held on tighter.

"John, I don't want it, I don't WANT to see it!" He said miserably, and John had to take a deep, shaky breath to calm _himself _down.

"I know, I know..."

"I can't stop seeing it!" He cried, body still heaving with sobs. He just couldn't stop himself, he was just _so _tired. He managed to control himself after a while, seemingly running out of tears. John continously whispered things to calm Paul down, rubbing his back.

"I miss her." Paul said weakly, his voice strained and hoarse from all the crying, which had now resolved into a few hiccupping sobs. He didn't even care about how pathetic he sounded, or how anyone might hear him crying like a baby. Paul just didn't care, because at that moment, he just missed his mother. And he just wanted that fucking dream to leave him alone, because he wanted to be able to think of his mother without thinking about it.

He wanted to think of her the way she had been, happy and smiling and loving, bright and cheerful even when she got home from work. Showering him and Mike with hugs, all of them having dinner together, tucking them into bed even when Paul had turned 14. And Paul would whine about it, even though he would never have admitted that he secrely loved it.

But this dream was ruining those memories for him. Paul couldn't think about those memories and just smile without that bloody, pained dream of his mother invading his thoughts, her begging him to do something, to just help her. And Paul would try everytime, but he could never do it, and he would would wake up shaking and sweating and feeling like he'd just lived through that horrible year when she'd been sick all over again, and even though he'd been given a chance, he'd failed.

And whenever he thought about it when he was awake, Paul would feel like his heart was being ripped into half, and he wanted it to stop. He just wanted it to stop, he didn't care how. Because this was just so unfair, for him to have lost his mother so young, and then to have her memories disorted by something happening in his own head, something he had absolutely no control over, something that wasn't real, but was killing him anyway.

"John, pleeasse."

"I'm sorry Paul..I really am" John said helplessly, stroking his back gently. Paul buried his face further into Johns neck, and his friend backed away a bit. Paul made a little noise of protest, but John just brought his head back so he could look Paul straight in the eyes.

And when Paul looked back up at John, his face streaked with tears and contorted in misery, his eyes sad and haunted and pleading all at the same time, Johns hand went up to his face on its own accord. Clumsily wiping his tears, gently pushing his hair back, and Paul closed his eyes again and leant further into John's rough, calloused touch, too exhausted to even be embarrassed about crying all over John and being so needy. He didn't care about people hearing him cry, or how everyone else had basically seen him lose it today. He just didn't. He just focused on John, moving his fingers in a way which was uncertain and clumsy but somehow still comforting and loving at the same time.

And with John literally _caressing _his face in a very John-like way, still holding him close with his other arm protectively around his back, Paul couldn't help but feel safe. He could feel the warmth and concern radiating off of his friend, and Paul basked in the comforting feeling. He was so tired, literally swaying where he sat on the floor, but there was something he just had to know.

"John?" He asked quietly, opening his eyes a fraction and looking at John. He was actually surprised that he had formed a coherent word. His brain had stopped functioning or something, which was kind of a blessing at the moment.

"Yeah, Paul?" John replied quickly, looking relieved at the fact that Paul might actually ask him to do something to help

"Will they ever stop?"

John swallowed at the pleading question, drawing Paul in again. "I..I don't know, Paul. I honestly don't"

He felt Paul take a shaky breath, still hicupping slightly. "I just want them to stop." He murmured.

"Hey, did you know that a blue whale's penis is 11 feet long?"

Paul gave a watery chuckle, still not moving from his incredibly comfortable position in Johns arms. Leave it to John to try and cheer him up the only way he knew how.

"What the fuck?" He whispered, mainly just to make John a little more comfortable. And let him know he wasn't going to break down again.

"Yeah..bet it hurts."

Paul couldn't help but genuinely laugh, and John couldn't help but feel proud of himself. God, that laugh sounded so good right now, no matter how tired and hoarse it was.

"Thanks John."

"Sleep Paulie. I'll be right here."

And with that, Paul closed his eyes right there on the floor, head buried in John's chest, both of the curled up against the bed. He simply didn't have the energy to move, and even if he had, he probably wouldn't have. Paul had almost completely drifted off when he felt a twinge of fear at the thought of having that dream again, but when he felt John press a ghost of a kiss into his hair, that fear dissolved into nothing, and he fell asleep in Johns arms, knowing if he _did _have it again, John'd be there to make ait at least a little more bearable.

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><p><strong>Ok, hopefully you were able to feel everything I wanted you guys to feel. Do you feel fuzzy? Did you hate it? Did you love it? TELL ME.<strong>


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